


fall and rise again

by thatoneinsecurenerd



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Graphic Description, No Dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26639626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatoneinsecurenerd/pseuds/thatoneinsecurenerd
Summary: Roman was a valiant prince. His opponent was one Dragon Witch. Usually, the Prince came out on top. Sometimes, however, things could goverywrong.***Just in case you missed it the first time:Major character death, Graphic depiction of violence
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	fall and rise again

**Author's Note:**

> Before you yell at me for the Mature rating despite the Graphic violence warning tag, the tag was more for precaution because it's the blood and injury that's described in graphic detail. There's no gruesome fight. It's all fight aftermath.
> 
> Please tell me if I forgot to/need to/should tag something! 
> 
> This was purely for me to practice writing descriptions, since I primarily write dialogue, and I’m getting really tired of reading my own written dialogue. I'm welcoming constructive criticism, though I'd prefer praise.
> 
> I didn’t put any research into this, so I don’t actually know the effects of blood loss other than what you might see in a movie. So I guess that’s what this is based on. Sorry if it’s inaccurate!
> 
> And now, onto the angst that not even _I_ asked for.

Roman Sanders stumbled into the common room of the mindpalace, which resembled Thomas’ living room, aside from a few details that made it uniquely the Sides’. Firstly, there was the hazy glow to the place, instead of the orange glow from a lamp. The floor was fluffy, dark gray carpet: perfect for cuddling on the floor for movie nights in front of their flat screen TV and also for hiding any crumbs from Patton’s second cookies. 

Currently, the room was empty. But a distant whistling – some upbeat tune – sounded from a room not much farther off. The kitchen behind the white half-wall, if Roman wasn’t mistaken. And that just so happened to be his destination. 

With one hand clenched tightly around his sword, which swung at his side, the blade inches from the ground, as he stumbled, and the other pressed against his abdomen, he followed the whistling into the kitchen. 

He was greeted with the sight of another side. Their _back_ side, as they were bustling about the kitchen and reheating Tupperware containers of leftover meals, even though the Sides were figments of Thomas’ imagination and didn’t actually need to eat to survive. But the bright blue, scratchy-looking fabric just barely concealed by a dark grey garment with a cat hood and tucked into a pair of khaki shorts was a dead giveaway of the side in question: Patton. 

Roman took another stumble forward, towards the cupboard where he might find a jar of Crofters (assuming Logan hadn’t gotten to it, first. Roman kept hiding the jars, and he thought that such an obvious place might deter the logical side, but, well, the logical side was named such for a reason). And it was then that Patton noticed him, turning around to greet him with a smile. 

However, Roman’s name died on Patton’s lips when he took in the state of him. 

For Roman’s white, bright red, and gold prince uniform was speckled in _dark_ red blood. Now, this wasn’t what was unusual about his appearance. 

Additionally, Roman’s lips were a bright shade of cherry red. Patton would have thought it was lipstick, except he hadn’t seen it on Roman this morning (not to mention there was no neat outline of it around his lips, just a liquid-y substance coating them), as he’d bid all of the light sides farewell, announcing he was going on a quest to slay the Dragon Witch and rescue a damsel in distress in the Imagination. A common scenario that Roman conjured up for himself. 

It was common for Roman to stumble into the kitchen, the shiny, silver blade of his sword caked in dark red, in search of a snack and something to quench his thirst after the exhausting task of defeating the Dragon Witch. 

It _wasn’t_ common for Roman’s hand to be pressed to his stomach, covered in bright red. It _wasn’t_ common for his hand to be pressed to fabric that was no longer white but a shade of dark, malevolent red. 

Patton instantly went into mother hen mode, calling out for Logan, who no doubt knew first aid, and Janus, who, even if he and Roman weren’t on the best terms, could give him a lecture on self-care to make sure he didn’t try to go back for a rematch before his wounds had healed. Also drawn by the commotion was an anxious Virgil, the hood of his black and purple patchwork hoodie around his head, strings pulled tight, to hide everything but his down-turned lips, his dark eyes, and his brows furrowed in concern. 

“What happened?” Patton asked, his voice higher in his concern. Everyone’s eyes were on Roman. They all seemed to be expecting some kind of response. Except for Logan, who was gently pulling Roman’s fingers away from his sword. Except for Logan, who gently pulled Roman into the common room and onto the dark gray carpet that may be able to hide the coffee stain from an instance of Logan’s enthusiastic rambling and large gesturing, a full mug in hand, after he’d spent all night awake reading some new book, but not the blood that coated Roman’s uniform. 

Roman opened his mouth to speak, even though Logan’s eyes seemed to be pleading with him to do otherwise. And it was then that the cherry red of his lips made sense. 

Blood flowed past his opened, cherry red lips and down his chin. It stuck to his skin. 

Patton gasped. He paced around the room, not knowing what he could do about this but wanting to help. 

Roman closed his lips, as if realizing no sounds had left them. Only blood. A flood of blood. 

His vision was getting dark at the edges and a ringing began in his ears. He tried to focus on Logan, leaning over him. On Logan, pulling his sticky, red hand gently away from his stained uniform. On Logan, whose lips were moving, his eyes looking past Roman and to the others. 

“Don’t close your eyes,” Roman thought he heard Logan tell him. But his voice sounded faint. Roman could feel his eyelids fluttering. 

He could feel the velcro of his prince uniform being pulled apart. He could feel Logan carefully peeling the fabric away from his sticky, bloody skin. He could feel a hint of cool air on his bare chest. 

His eyelids continued to flutter. Almost fluttering closed. It was a fight to heed the words Logan may not have actually said to him. 

Logan was focused on his task. On assessing Roman’s wound and determining the proper way to care for it. 

Three deep gashes, right on his abdomen. One stretching over his belly button. 

But Logan only discovered this after he’d wiped away some of the sticky, crusty blood with a dark blue towel he’d conjured out of thin air. Roman had done good at applying pressure to the wound. He’d pretty much stopped the bleeding. Logan would have to remember to commend him for it later. 

Logan wiped away the blood from Roman’s lips, chin, and neck with a gentle hand. Next, he applied a harsh pressure to Roman’s abdomen and eased him into sitting. 

It had been a risk, considering how much blood Roman had already lost. And if Logan had been paying attention to his patient instead of the state of the wound, he would have seen that it was a risk _without_ a reward. 

Roman’s eyes had fluttered shut. 

His body stilled. His chest didn’t rise and fall, not even the barest bit. His eyes didn’t twitch beneath his lids. His fingers went limp; his arms went limp at his sides. 

Roman would recover, of course. None of Thomas’ sides could actually die. But Thomas would find that he had a lot less motivation and creative ideas (of the quote-unquote “ _good_ ” kind, anyway), and a little less confidence in himself than normal, for the week or two it took Roman to... regenerate, if you will. To heal in his room, which would be closed off, as his body temporarily disappeared into dark red ashes (like blood flakes, almost) then reformed hazy bit by hazy bit until he was whole again. Until he was _himself_ again. 

And then, he’d wake up with no memory of what had happened, even if he maintained his memories of everything else. Everyone’s gazes on him would be concerned, but he’d brush them off. He’d insist he was fine. And, well, he _was_. Because he was able to get back up from any fall. 

The ego could fall, but it would always rise again. 

A Side could fall, but it was never gone forever. It was never truly dead. 


End file.
